The Circle
by Tori Angeli
Summary: Don is determined to put things right with Mike when their friendship is strained. He is unprepared, however, for things to be very different from the way he has decided they are. Implied adult content. Set in Aubretia Lycania's trilogy universe.


Author's Note: This was written as a thank-you gift to Aubretia Lycania and is set in her Trilogy universe. There is implied adult content. It's not explicit, but it's dark and skewed by Don's perspective. Thank you for being awesome, Aub!

* * *

This had been Leo's idea.

Donatello glanced over his shoulder as the metal door to the closet clanged shut, automatically locking with a hollow snick.

_Don't close the door. It locks on its own, and we haven't figured out how to keep it from doing that._

He could see Michelangelo's face react to the echo of those words, spoken only minutes earlier. Don didn't even flinch at the sound of the shutting door, utterly unsurprised. This had been Leo's idea, but Don had agreed to it. He struggled to suppress a feather-light wisp of guilt at Mike's shocked and betrayed face. This was for him and Mike. They needed this.

He didn't need to worry. A moment after the door shut, Mike snorted loudly. "Jerkface," he muttered, springing up from his squat and pounding hard on the door. "LEO! NOT FUNNY!"

The sound of a fist pounding against a heavy metal door made Don wince. "Quit that," he snapped, moving a tile back into place on the ceiling and climbing back down the ladder. He had asked Mike to help him fix the water pipes running to their lair—the primary ones carrying water clean enough to drink, filtered many times by a system Don had set in place the year before. He had been barely thirteen then, and had already made the most important invention of his family's life. There was no lie about asking Mike to lend a hand—he needed the help. The rest was Leo's idea.

"Did you see him?" Mike said indignantly, briefly pausing his aggression upon the door. "He shut us in here. On purpose."

Don shook his head. "I didn't see. Are you sure it was Leo?"

"Totally, dude."

"Mikey!" His brother's forced accent made his spine shrivel. "Don't talk like that!"

Mike shrugged nonchalantly, turning around and leaning casually against the door. "Raph doesn't mind. Does the air in here run out?"

That first sentence was even worse than the faked accent. The light in the little closet was suddenly dimmer, and Don curled his hands, not quite into fists, but into tense circles, releasing a little of the frustration that blinded him. "No, the closet is not airtight. And since when does Raph's opinion make everything law?"

Another carefree shrug, and Don wanted to throttle his brother. Or throw his arms around him. "Wanna help me pound on the door?"

Don rolled his eyes. "I'll get us out of here, okay?"

"How, dude? You just brought the monkey wrench and the soldering gun."

This was Don's favorite part of Leo's plan, because it involved showing off his pre-planned magic-making skills. Of course Don had inspected the closet before he would agree to be locked into it. He was good, but he wasn't a miracle-worker yet, and still needed something vaguely flat to unscrew hinges. Whatever he did, though, was sure to impress his younger brother. "Watch me," he said with a twitch of his lips. Oh, he so wanted to smile.

Mike, face lined with the childish impatience he should have outgrown, slinked to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and watching Don through bored, half-masted eyes. Don pretended to inspect the area carefully before settling on a rusty metal shelf. The supports were flat, and he could pry them loose. "I could use these to unscrew the hinges," he said indicating the shelf.

There was no enthusiastic response. Instead, Mike shrugged. "I'd rather call for help."

Don whirled around, heart in his mouth. "Don't do that!" he said quickly. "I'd be embarrassed if anyone knew we got locked in here." _Don't call for Raph. This is the only way I can get you alone anymore when we're not hiding in the kitchen while Raph and Leo fight—and then you just talk about Raph!_

"Yeah, but at least we'd be outta here," Mike pointed out, settling his carapace against the wall, eyes trailing up to the ceiling. "I bet Raph would just break down the door."

Donatello bit his tongue. He was not going to scream "Stop talking about Raph!" at his adoring kid brother, but oh, he wanted to. If it hadn't been for Raph, he wouldn't have had to resort to this just to get his best friend to talk to him. That's if Mike was his best friend anymore, or even his friend at all. "Well, Raph's not here. Sit tight and I'll get us out." _Yes, keep things to the point. Maybe he'll start having fun._

Mike started to get up. "I'll help," he offered.

_No!_ "No!" Don said too quickly. _The less he helps, the longer you're here. The longer you're here, the more time you have to talk to him. Make him see how dangerous Raph is. Convince him he's better off with you._ "It's okay," he said more calmly, grabbing the shelf and putting weight on it. "I've got it. It should break free easy."

With a mildly subdued look, Michelangelo sank back down, the faint beginnings of light in his eyes overtaken again by that dull boredom. He sighed dramatically. "Well, I'll find some way to amuse myself," he lamented.

Don pushed down hard on the shelf, feeling it bend. Bending was not good. Something that bent didn't break easily. It should have broken right off, with all that rust, leaving two units running along the wall and curving outward just a little. He could have used the wrench to hammer one off and unscrew the hinges of the door. He settled his full weight on it. Nothing. "Well," he said through his teeth, beginning a line he had gone over and over in his head before this—the one part of the plan so far that he was able to use, "you can tell me what you and Raph have been doing all the time."

_Raph stole my best friend. Mikey was mine to protect. Raph is crazy. Raph could be dangerous. Raph could hurt Mikey. Mikey is mine to protect. Mine._

"Chillin'," Mike said noncommittally.

Don gave up on the shelf and desperately began searching the area again. If he couldn't impress Mike with his Houdini act of getting them out of the closet, how could he possibly compete with Raph? "Doing what?"

"Hangin' around. Raph's been helping me with my bike. He fixed the chain yesterday."

A sharp pain like a spike of dry ice shot through Don's heart. He swallowed, then ventured a glance at Mike. His brother didn't seem to think anything was wrong. _But there is. I used to fic your bike._ The fact that Raphael, of all people, could do the same thing hurt even more. "Did he make sure everything was aligned? Did he try to ride it himself first, just to make sure?"

"Nah. It works fine. I could just about do it myself now, just...the fingers, yo. Too thick. Hard to manage that crap."

"Stop talking like that," Don said automatically. His stomach flip-flopped. He couldn't find anything anywhere that he could use, and he was running low on time before Mike gave up and--

"HELLLLP!" Mike bellowed suddenly, making Donatello jump out of his skin. Don's eyes widened as Mike started to his feet again. He dashed forward and took hold of his brother's arms, forcing him back down.

"No!" Don said, trying to soothe his brother back into boredom—it was better than this impossible impatience. "No, wait, Mikey. It's okay, just...just wait for it, okay?" He swallowed. "I want to talk to you about something." As soon as he said the words, his heartbeat started hammering to the crown of his head behind his eyes, his face tingled, and his chest grew warm. This was where things were going to become difficult.

Mike gave him a wary stare. "What?"

Don licked his lips. When had they ever gone so dry? His mouth was a desert. "Just...sit down, okay? I've been wanting to know something."

_Raph's eyes squeezed shut, face open with bliss, Leonardo hovering over him, hand where it could not be seen, but Donatello knew where it was. He watched, stunned beyond the ability to cry out, to make Raph stop. Why was Leo cooperating like this? How had it turned into this when they had been fighting before? Did Raph really like this kind of thing, hands forced over his head with Leo touching him where he supposedly never touched himself? He must, since Leo was doing it, this unspoken mystery that lay just beyond the light of the candle in Donatello's mind, the small circle of illumination that held all he knew of the dark world stretching out on all sides._

A year later, that circle was wider than ever, embracing many strange aspects of this adult world he had lived in without knowing. In this world, protecting Michelangelo was not a joy, but a necessity, and Raphael was not only a hindrance, but a danger. Leo seemed to understand, to know why this needed to happen. If he wanted Raph back the way Don wanted Mike back, Don couldn't understand why, but said nothing—Leo's help was help regardless.

"Do you and Raph--" Don cut himself off, uncertain. Should this really be spoken? How should it be spoken?

"Do me and Raph what?" Mike asked. Don blinked his thoughts from his eyes. The bored impatience had drained from his brother's face, replaced with a puzzled, inquisitive expression, as though Don's anxiety was intriguing and, by the tense line of his shoulders, somewhat contagious.

"Do you and Raph..." Don gritted his teeth and swallowed, although there was nothing to swallow, "...do things?"

The inquisitive look phased into a thoughtful frown, as though Mike was judging precisely how innocent these "things" Don referred to could possible be. "Like what?"

_Please don't make me say it._ Don forced himself to take two deep breaths. He would have to be brief and to the point, like ripping off a Band-Aid, or Mike would keep dodging. "Like...touching." The words suddenly came in a flood. "Touching each other. Or him touching you."

Mike's frown darkened.

"I know," Don added hastily, "it's weird to talk about, but...although I suppose," he stammered, "you don't have to tell me...what you do."

The more Don talked the stranger Mike's expression became. He no longer frowned; his face was even except for shocked, wide eyes, pupils gradually diminishing, and Don was suddenly certain the worst had happened. _I'll kill you, Raphael._

But the strangest thing came out of Mike's mouth. "This isn't fun anymore," he said, drawing back a step.

"I-I know," Don said softly, reaching for his shoulder, "but Mike--"

Mike broke away sharply. "Get me outta here," he said quietly, then shoved past Don and pounded on the door. "SOMEONE GET ME OUTTA HERE!"

"Mike!" Don said sharply, seizing his shoulder and turning him around. Suddenly, the wind was knocked out of him, and he crashed into the back wall. He sat stunned for a moment, still able to feel the imprint of Mikey's foot against his plastron, until he could breathe again. With breath came the sudden realization of what Mike thought was going on.

"Get off me," snarled Michelangelo. "You're sick."

"No," Don said, horror creeping up his face. Unable to touch Mike without further engaging his disgust, he curled his hands at his sides again. "No, I didn't mean that, Mike, not me. I meant--"

BAM! Both of Mike's fists slammed into the door. "RAAAAAAAPH!" he bellowed, his voice breaking with notes of desperation.

"I didn't mean us! I would never—"

The door opened. Mike, who was practically leaning against it, nearly fell through and into the arms of an obviously irritated Raph. Raphael drew back suddenly, hands flying up to steady his brother. "What the hell is going on?"

Instead of answering, Mike pushed past him and out the door, suddenly quiet. Raph stared after him, looking startled, then turned on Don. "What did you do?"

Donatello did not feel answerable to Raph, particularly not about this. He tried to shove past him, but Raph caught his arm, digging his fingers hard into his flesh. "What did you do?" Raph repeated, his voice acquiring a threatening growl.

"Nothing," snapped Don, yanking away. "We got locked in."

Raph's dark eyes narrowed. Without waiting for a reply, Don brushed past him and headed back to the lair.

* * *

The evidence was strange and embarrassing. Inexplicably, while Raph had obviously seduced Leo, he had been innocent with Mike. There was no other way to interpret Mike's reaction earlier that day—horror at Don, not at Don's words, and a mistaken interpretation of his questions. Mike had had no idea what Don was talking about. Either he was repressing or Raph had never touched him to begin with. Considering all other evidence—or lack thereof—it seemed that Don had been wrong about Raphael.

He sat at the kitchen table, sipping a can of soda and waiting for the brawl between Leo and raph to quiet down. They weren't being intelligible enough for Don to hear what the fight was about, but it was coming close to blows, from what he could hear. Splinter was sure to intervene at any moment.

"Hey."

Don glanced up at the doorway, but Mike had already breezed through it, opening various cupboards and inspecting their contents. He pulled a bag of pork rinds from one and turned a chair around, straddling it backwards. Don watched him open the bag and grab a greedy handful of the rather unappetizing air-puffed snacks. Apparently he was noticed, because Mike glanced over at him and gave him a small grin. He held out the bag. "Pork rind?"

Something inside that Don hadn't known was still tense uncoiled like a spring. He stared into Mike's open eyes for a moment and found no trace of disdain, just a hint of regret. Maybe he wasn't too surprised. He'd had a feeling it would happen this way, with Mike gaining a sense of perspective after he'd distanced himself from the event, deciding Don had been sincere when he'd said he meant no harm and immediately acting like nothing had ever happened. Maybe Mike was as embarrassed by the conclusion he'd jumped to as Don was about his.

Raph and Leo were still shouting. They still had some time to themselves, and these were the only times Don ever had with Mike anymore.

Don carefully returned Mike's smile and took a pork rind.


End file.
